


An Overdose of Fear

by Abreannero



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, Gang, M/M, interspecies love, mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 07:06:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abreannero/pseuds/Abreannero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave Strider is rising to power in an underground crime organization against an oppressive government, while Tavros is left behind to piece together their broken love life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Overdose of Fear

“Baby, what’s for breakfast?”  
  
“Nothing, if you do not hurry.”  
  
“Come on, don’t be like that. I know you're mad, but I wasn’t even out that long last night."

Hopping from the bedroom with one pants leg on, Dave stumbled into the kitchen and watched his on-and-off boyfriend scramble eggs on a scorching pan. Pleased that there was clearly enough for two and that the previous threat was just big talk, he shoved his other leg through his pants and hoisted them up. The cold shoulder delivered, however, was not what he wanted accompanied with his food. Sauntering over, Dave held his arms out, a warning for an impending embrace.

“I promise I wasn’t out doing anything too illegal.”  
  
“Too illegal? Are you telling me, uh, that there are different levels to how illegal something is?”  
  
“Sure. Misdemeanors and felonies.”  
  
“Those are just punishments.”  
  
“Due to how illegal some crime is.”  
  
After a long ‘ugh’, Tavros set down the spatula and sighed against Dave, who had securely looped his arms around his waist to ensure no escape. He could feel the other’s heart beat against his back, thudding through skin and muscle, the steady, tender striking made easy from lack of clothing. Tavros turned off the stove, then stared at the pale hand engulfing his own. “I didn’t mean to piss you off,” He mumbled, “If you really wanna know, I was just out trailing a guy. No violence involved.”  
  
Tilting his head back, he raised a skeptical brow, thin lips set into a tight line before speaking, “No violence?”  
  
He kissed his forehead, then released him, “Not a single punch thrown.”  
  
—-  
  
Pacing, he tried to calm himself down. Count to ten. Review his options.  
  
A man, sprawled on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, bore bullet wounds like morbid medals over his chest.   
  
“One, two, three, f-four-“  
  
A static voice on the phone, “Strider? Strider?”  
  
“I killed him.”  
  
“Killed who? What’s your location, where are you?”  
  
A strangled gasp for air, he sank to his knees, clutched the phone in hands slippery from sweat, “I murdered him.”  
  
—-  
  
Pacing, he tried to calm himself down. Count to ten. Review his options.  
  
Another date ruined. Another romantic night wasted. Tavros was beginning to wonder why he even bothered.  
  
He had finished his dinner long ago and placed his matesprit’s in the microwave. Puckering his lips, he blew out a slow stream of air to put out the candles. The pads of his fingers scooped out melted wax, rolled it between the digits and counted down the hours until he would inevitably fall asleep waiting for Dave to return home. By two in the morning, he was dozing on the couch, hands stained red from dried wax that Tavros never peeled off.  
  
He was clean. His crime was never committed. His organization against oppressive forces seemed like a distant memory.   
  
The front door eased open, then closed. Black shoes, color of night, were toed off and set neatly by the coat rack. Dave tiptoed in, his shades pushed into his hair as he glanced around. No Tavros. He checked the kitchen, hoping he could mistake the pounding of his heart as moving for a drink. His eyes spotted the glowing green time on the stove: Two twenty four.  
  
The floorboards creaked below his weight, but Dave’s mind whizzed to piece together the night’s events. Tavros waiting for him, becoming disappointed; a half-eaten steak lay cold and desolate on a porcelain plate. Deep red wine set flat in clean glasses.  
  
“Shit.”  
  
The color was too close to blood, he noted, and he crept towards the living room. The television was still on, paid programming for a useless invention. His eyes strayed to the troll curled up, slumbering away the displeasure of the night for favor of unconsciousness. On the troll’s hands was dried red, and Dave hitched a breath. “It’s not blood,” His body quaked, “It could never be.”  
  
His gaze trailed over the slender body occupying the furniture. Pure, untainted, innocent and holy. 

Tears stung his eyes, and he forced his knuckles against the ducts to press away the moisture. “Wake up,” He whispered, a hand shooting down to capture the resting shoulder and jostle him awake, “Wake up, I’m not dead and neither are you.”  
  
“Mmn..” Tired eyes sluggishly opened, lips parted before he promptly closed them, a frown taking residence. “It’s you.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I just-” Knees buckling, Dave finally surrendered to his exhaustion and sank down, a half bow of utter shame, “I keep fucking up, and I know it angers you.”  
  
“Not so much angers me as scares me.” Sitting up, Tavros held out his hands to offer the couch to him, but Dave refused. He lowered them and picked at the wax, “You could get killed out there. I, uhh. I just want us to be together without any outside influences determining what the conditions will be. Only us and only, our terms. I‘m terrified for you, Dave.”  
  
Biting his lips, he took a seat beside him anyway, thigh pressed against Tavros’. Gently, he raked his fingers through his dark hair, “It’s alright to be scared sometimes,” He assured, “But it’ll be alright. I’ll be, too.” He swallowed thickly, “I always am.” 


End file.
